Genocide
by WhereIsGod
Summary: A young man dealing with life's struggles and a horrible childhood is granted the power of a symbiote: Genocide.
1. Chapter 1

**Genocide**

What measures a man's worth? Who can count the scales? How strong can a man be and become? Is his mind the limit? Is the wheelchair his master? How far can his hands turn? Is his aim good? Can he even read a short story? Is his life full of legends? Or a coward's tail? At the end of the road, we all end up the same: dead. Each turnpike, stop sign, intersection, and detour determines a man's value. But then again… he could just get in a wreck and call all mankind to genocide.

A person's image is molded in the beginning, like a potter at the most important part of his turning. Without the base, nothing else succeeds. Life can be pictured as a clear cut roadway or hell's highway. Depending on the start, determines the picture. And every muffler let's out some exhaust. It can be replaced, but every one of them links up to something worse. An entire engine is hard and expensive to replace. Depending on one's job it may cost a lifetime. If the car is out of this world, then a devil downtown is the only solution.

Drugs, beer, cards, they're all the same, they equate to one's desire, and splurging in them is easy for a weak soul. If that soul is your father; hopefully he will die soon. A detour can take a long, long time. Breaking straight through the sign can lead to death, but it is a hell of a lot quicker.

A little depression is worse than schizophrenia, for the medical help isn't free nor is it taken seriously. And job after job is lost, if one has a dream that requires school, then a drop of depression can attribute to more dept than a gambler. So our idiot has done. Tossing and wading in the mindless sea of life; wondering where his next brick wall lies.

He came home to the same house he was conceived. He opened the car door, slowly his window started to go down, he pressed the horrible button that has worse engineering than a toddler, and of course, the window didn't go up; it was going to rain eventually, so either he has to fix it or tape, and tape it he did.

Once inside the house, the smell of hell rushed towards him: tobacco. "I need to move out," he thought. How the hell is he supposed to do that? He only makes eight dollars an hour, and rent for the cheapest place near to his school is one-thousand a month. He brushed the stupid idea aside; went to go take a piss and puke.

He looked at the toilet, couldn't tell if his dad even tried to aim, or wipe his ass with the seat. Toilets have to deal with a lot of shit. His innards chirgled; he fell to his knees and grasped the toilet to puke. Heave after heave, only God alone could see. He heaved the remaining attempt; because death is so sweet. He made sure to wash his hands after at least that was the idea, grasping the handle had funk all over it anyway. Out of the bathroom he felt somewhat more dirty.

In his bedroom he changed; had to put on some decent work cloths. The door barged open, a finger pointed at him "was school good today Mark?" His father Just in boxers, "it was okay, same as usual." "Well, usual isn't enough, I want it to be extraordinary," Mark nodded, "one day it will but I still have to take the stupid general education requirement classes regardless of whether or not I go towards a degree." His dad leaned on the door, "yeah, go to high-school then go to paid high-school, what a joke; get me something to eat." Mark was putting on his belt, "I have work in thirty-minutes." His dad slammed the door.

It has been a long time since his dad has worked. "Paid leave" so they say, it will help you between finding and getting a job. Rather than going to the root cause of an issue, insurance covers all the muck that has boiled up. It isn't illegal to drink, nor is it illegal to sit on a couch nor is it illegal to be homeless. It is illegal to beat your son, but where will the son go when the father is in jail? To another man he has no idea. What about a son that is of age? Well, that's in God's hands, and it requires a tremendous willpower to overcome. If a person overcomes an abusive childhood and comes out with a clear conscious; then this person can overcome anything. As for the rest that fail, the one's that shoot themselves or stretch out their hand towards a bottle or find Satan's medicine; these have no cure.

Humans suck at just about everything. Especially at getting out of horrible starting lines. As for me, I have looked down the barrel and the end is a glorious site. No more pain, no more tiredness, no more anger. But then, there is a small fire that burns within, and my fire has ignited. I want to use my weakness and my evil for good. As for this young man in this story, he will be given the opportunity to do anything, and no punishment will be given.

If you had a list of all the people you hated, and a random man approached your doorstep and said, "I will take away the life of all the people you have hated, and in the future whoever hates you or raises their hand against you, I will destroy them: at no cost and no consequence." How much would you, reader, be willing to pay this evil genie? Will you give him your left kidney? Or one of your feet? An instant death to all the raging drivers that have cut me off is a simple fantasy. But what if it could be done? Would you do it? And with no consequence or thought of a afterlife: what evil can a man possibly achieve?

That husband of yours, the one that strikes you, how far would you be willing to drive to find a person that would eliminate him, and have no consequence or redemption on part of him. Think of the husband as being vanished. Does this type of murder even exist? To kings and queens it does, but to us, the filth of the earth, it is a godsend. Most gifts are given, but another amazing gift is when something is taken away.

And when a person is surrounded by evil will not his thoughts produce evil? A human can break the walls, yet God only knows the ratio. And I would love to ask him one day. How many kids that had parents that beat them made it out alive and well off? How many depressed individuals ended up accomplishing their dreams. Tell me Lord how many careers started from a garage and how many have failed. Can the Lord tell us the ratio between the poor and crime? Between houses full of strife and crime? Why would someone work for minimum wage when they could make a grand over the weakened by selling the most demanded item in America? When conscious and morality are removed, the actions of us humans are up in the air; we can do anything if we set are mind to it. Walking two thousand miles is a lot easier than going to sleep every night after being beaten and deprived of food for eighteen years. A person cannot live outside his home at eighteen. He needs "help" to just have at least a roof: add school, add health, add car, add stress, add money, add everything. The creation of a monster is easy: add more stress. Then when the pistons break: people will die. It just so happens that a gun is the easiest and most lazy way to release anger. What if there was a deity that allowed you to release all your anger? It is a dream only written in books. It is not real, this is not life, in life we have to sleep, we have to work, we have to eat, and these things are just to stay alive. Almost our entire life is spent on simply just surviving. And surviving gets harder when you age.

When the barrel is within reach and The Final Thought has approached you: life is never the same. Defaulting on a loan is harder than defaulting on the breadth of life. It is easier to die than to live. There is a knife in every home. There is a rope in every home. There is a street near every house. There is a seventh-floor building in every city, there is a train track in every country, there is a gun in every cop's hostler, there is a hardware store in every town. Life could be ended right now. I have a knife in front of me. I could stop writing and end it all right now. And who would care? Anybody outside this building might care, but outside my bloodline: no one. Seven billion people do not care about you. You are nothing, but a pathetic human being, raised from muck, and thrown into a planet with the possibility of succeeding. Good luck with that, poker has better odds than making over a hundred thousand a year.

A person can do anything if they set their mind to it. Great saying, but it is a bunch of bullshit. In America, yeah sure, you can try but the odds of failing are large; I hope you enjoy all that weight on your shoulders. What about if you don't live in America? What odds do the people with no vaccines have? Can they do anything if they set their mind to it? Sayings are good selling points. But fate or God's Will have no bounds. A person cannot decide where they want to be born, and who spits them out of the vagina. May the Lord have mercy on you, if you have a horrible start. It can get better, it can also get worse, or it can stay the same. Who knows, I'm not God, but I do know this, ending a life is so much easier than starting one.

Is the drunk alive? Is the drug addict alive? Are the depressed of the living? Who is truly living? Who is living the life? Even the rich look at the cold barrel and pull the trigger. Death is a glorious thing. It is also where all things end. It is the final question. There is no going back. No changing minds. Is this appealing? Or is it scary? Do you want to see God? Do you want to go into the abyss? Is there anyway to get rid of suffering? The only way to get rid of suffering is to not even be able to breadth. If there is good then there has to be evil. If there was no evil then there would be no good. In order for a person to be helped, they have to suffer from something. But if there was nothing, then there would be nothing, no evil nor no good. Nothing can be seen in a black circle. And this is why black is so enticing, because it blocks all the other colors. It is the king of colors. A dirty shirt doesn't have to be washed, it can be painted black. If everything was painted black then there would be no issue with choosing colors. If all humans died, then there would be no more suffering, for everything is gone. And it just so happens that another deity thought of this grand idea.

XXX 1

Back when the first days could be counted, the gods fought over claiming what was rightfully theirs. The god of Jupiter, Thor, Men of Steel, and the Symbiotes fought on day after day. The gods overlooked the pathetic world called Earth, for the residents were still in caves then. One god made stones, another death, another a fragment of hatred from within himself. He infused all his well being into this final little muck. Fully black and couldn't be cleaned. When he was destroyed, he flung his first child towards Earth hoping for a destiny. A will bent on him alone could only possibly succeed.

In those days men on Earth regularly danced by a fire. They looked up, as with all humans, when something magnificent is about to happen, we stand and stare. The comet came hurling into a lake, so they bowed and prayed, to whatever it is that happened.

Within a month, all the fish died. Within a year the tribes called the lake Genocide, for nothing went in nor did nothing come out, and no one came near the lake.

When The New World was found; the white man came. It took a while but eventually the white man went west.

Fish always come out early, and our grandfathers loved this. Why? Because it was nothing, the thing all men crave: quietness. Naturally a man is attracted to a quiet place. So a pale-skinned-human fished is this Lake. He was patient, all good fishermen are patient. The sun clipped the mountains. A hand grasped his shoulder. Before he could fully turn around, his flintlock was taken from his holster. The native had a finger between his mouth. "Do not fish here" the native said. The idiot questioned the one who has lived here for years, "why?" the white-man responded. "Because there are no fish in that lake."

Now, during the days of the actual story, another group of mindless young idiots decided to get some adrenaline: go skinny dipping. In The Lake there were about five young ones: old enough to drive. They splashed and laughed. Touched and kissed. Where was our god? He was there, at the bottom of the lake, he was no fool though. He knew it was some young humans trying to find pleasure in something mundane. He chuckled. He was weak though. His hunger grew. Ten tentacles shot out from His "body"; He grabbed their feet and pulled them under. Gurgled and fighting, they met their end. He consumed them.

Many days later, the authorities found the clothing of the missing youngsters. They sent a diver in the lake. Knull was no fool, for he saw many humans surrounding The Lake. And He knew why; they were searching, but again He chuckled; they were wasting their time. But, He did not engage, for He found no one Worthy.

Our young man went to work. He drove, like all the others in life. Fucking stupid how much time we waste in simply going to a destination, or that place we all hate: work. So he drove, like all the others; raging and fiddling, they are all the same; texting and drinking, why can't they just die. Drunken madness took the child, but the killer is let free. Such a fucking stupid society.

He got out of his car; the window slowly went down. "Fuck!" "It's broken again." As he turned around, he saw a old woman look at him; he didn't realize how load he dropped The F Bomb, but she understood his pain all too well. He walked inside.

Simply grocery store, of course I can't say a name, because that would be copyrighted. We will call it "Life Sucks." I think that would fit perfectly, or "I fucked up in school." I got a better one "get me out of here." Work sucks, especially if it's dull, but what makes these minimum jobs awful is not the work in itself; it's the fuckers you work with. You go to school, deal with fuckers, go home and deal with a fucker and a bitcher, then go to work and deal with random assholes. No wonder suicide is so high: life is awful.

You know what makes His job even worse? He's a massive introvert, and shit's luck would have it, he worked as the cashier. He went up to The Device: clocked in. Then he went to the Pain in The Ass Device: cashier. He began.

Of course, his first customer is that bitch with a billion coupons and at home has a shitty husband; she will let you know too, they all do. You see Reader, women vent, men hold onto it then explode or drink it off. But woman try to be slaves and do way more than they should; just too get that ever-longing chance of recognition. Or a glimpse of "real" love.

I'm going to tell you this right now! DREAMS DON'T COME TRUE. And if they do come true, then you will dream about something else. The worst dream to dream, is to dream to die. Not because death is brutal or cruel, but because death is the end. The end is a powerful tool. In the end we want the beginning, but in the beginning we want the end.

So on she went, putting useless shit onto the express-way. Mark shook his head and scanned them. Before all was scanned she told him and showed him "I have a coupon," he nodded "I will take it at the end." That's not the answer she wanted. "But I have two," he breathed in "we don't' take two coupons at once." She put her hand on her hip, "are you sure?" He looked at her "Yes." She looked cruel, "I want to talk to your manager." He thought "really, first fucking person and I get this." He immediately stopped and went to look for his manager.

She was at customer service, but she was busy. He stood there and waited. Once complete he approached, "a customer wants to know if you can use two coupons in one purchase." The manager looked at him bewildered, "you can't, you can only use one." He cocked his head, "I know but she doesn't believe me." She took a breath, "just give her two." He said "okay."

As walking back he thought "what are the point of rules if they are broken so easily." He went back to Her. Now there was a line. "We're not supposed too but we will take two coupons here." She looked at him as if he was the dumbest man alive. "I have three coupons." His temperature rose. "Only two," he said with as much calmness as possible; then he began scanning again.

She interrupted him while scanning, "I don't want to buy this if I can't use my coupons." He looked at her with some vileness. "Do you want to pay for any of this?" She responded "let me speak to your manager." He looked upwards.

The Savior came by "why is the line all backed up?" He was slightly happy to see The Manager. He responded "the miss wanted to use more than one coupon." The manager wanting to be the "hero" and not look evil said "let her use as many as she wants." He responded with a long "okay." The Customer said while The Manager walked away "told yah."

Not even twenty minutes in and this day was fucking awful. Once everything was complete She said a few more venomous words and Mark said nothing. Next person was a man.

"Hello, did you find everything okay?" Mark Humbly said. The man with baldness said "Yes." Mark continued scanning more items. Once done, "your total is," but the man butted in "I'll use these coupons for the soda." Mark quickly smacked "we only take one." The man with his stupid fucking entitlement "but the woman just used three." The RAGE BOILED, IGNITED! "Go FUCK Her if you want to USE MORE FUCKING COUPONS!" Mark took off his badge and threw it at him. While walking away he heard the man and the others say, "he is going to be a trouble one."

XXX 2

Our poor Mark, life was not meant for him. A life greater was. Never the less, another stupid activity waited: school. It was night school this time. Mark, saved His least favorite General Education Requirement class for last. He hated the teacher, the teacher teaching sociology. He thought it was the dumbest, stupidest subject ever. Why teach something that every fucking person has a different interpretation of that subject. Mark asked many questions during the class, and the teacher hated Him and His stupid beyond Earthly questions.

Mark went and sat at his usual spot. No one ever sat next to him during any class. Psychopaths or men with a demonic zeal sit, stand, think, write, and talk in a strange manner; a manner that is above humans. He sat on the front row. No one else on His left or right. Class started.

Mark respected the teacher, because of the teacher's position, a position of authority, and getting on the bad-side of a person in authority is about as stupid as This Teacher's rambling. The subject today Mark was actually extremely curious about: Social Justice. He already knew the word's meaning, but He had never heard it from a Doctorate professor.

The Idiot started teaching. Rambling onward, The Idiot began putting important words on the board. Mark's rage from earlier that day had not fully subsided. When rage is there, judgement and reason is clouded, and so was His. "How does society determine an individual's destiny?" Mark bluntly asked while the teacher was done talking. The Idiot turned around.

"Excuse me?" Mark, being out of tone asked again, "how does society determine an individual's destiny?" The Idiot took a deep breath. "Because there are separate positions in society, in a country, and these positions or classes determine another person's fortune." Mark, dumbstruck, said "what if a person beats the boundaries posed by a society?" The Idiot crossed His arms. "That is rare, and those are the exceptions, not every person is able to do that." Mark onward, "so you are implying that majority of humans are weak." The Idiot shook his head, "no, I am implying that people in society are unable to overcome what society has already put on them." "But, who determines what is too hard for a person and what isn't?" This question went beyond The Idiot's reasoning, so he went on the defensive. "Where do you, Mark, come up with these questions?" Mark simply onward "because I want answers to these complicated philosophies." The Idiot angerly answered "these are not philosophies." Quickly Mark objected "then what are we talking about? Boundaries that pathetic humans are unable to overcome?"

The Idiot's anger was greatly kindle, and his pride. When a person's dignity is destroyed by a lesser individual, the next step for that prideful person is to pull out a FUCKING SOCIAL CARD. And this Idiot's social card was... being a "educated" professor. "Get the FUCK out of my classroom Mark, and don't come back!" Mark, knowing He "won" the argument, stood up and said "you are too afraid to answer the question, because you know Social Justice is a BIG, FAT, LIE." The Idiot slammed his fist on the table, "GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I GET SECURITY!" Mark wasn't done "oh, so now all the sudden you like police." The Idiot's face was greatly red. "I will find every way possible to get you suspended." Mark laughed and smile; "do it, weakling." Then Mark left and went to His car.

+++_+_)(_+*+#$340983204723u4y234-235890824l;h

Mark drove onwards, thinking about what just happened. "Great, this is all probably going to backfire on me." He continued dissecting His brain. "What's the point of going to school if you can't argue freely, but instead can only argue about certain ideas." His tire popped.

He somewhat jumped from His seat in fury. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKCKCKCKCCKCK" He let out. He began to control His breathing. "Always something." Cars were honking. He saw a dirt road in the distance: very close. He drove onto the patch and parked.

While inspecting the tire: it was done for. He had a replacement, but the gravel was a crappy place to use the jackhammer to lift up the tire. He looked down the graveled lane. A line was strung from one tree over onto another with words "Do Not Enter." He somewhat laughed. "Damn Idiots and thinking their signs fucking work." He lifted the sign upwards and went under.

Was a decent walk but it didn't seem like someone's property; because he would have seen more tracks. Onwards He eventually approached a patio. Was quite nice actually. He walked up to the layout, and sat on a bench underneath the futon. Seat seemed old but rarely used. He looked around on the floor: no footprint markings. "Odd" He thought. Because the view was quite nice. Looking onwards towards The Lake.

The Lake was gorgeous. A few trees stood hovering over the Lake on its sides. All was perfect in view but there were no animals. Mark stood up and walked toward The Lake. The water was slightly murky. He took in a deep breadth and looked around again. The place was quiet. "Pretty nice place." Of-course Genocide stared He couldn't believe His time could possibly come. Mark heard a noise behind him. "Sir, you can't be here," said a grizzled police officer behind him. Mark responded "sorry, was just taking in the scenery." Mark breathed again. "I have a flat tire, I'll go back to my car and change." The police officer asked "which car? I hope it's not the one being towed away." Mark dropped another F-bomb and ran towards the car.

He came back but it was gone. He actually dropped to his knees. A hand fell on his shoulder. Mark couldn't believe this type of gesture and rudely said "don't FUCKING TOUCH ME!" as he stood up very quickly. The oldish officer looked sad and shocked. But Mark was even more shocked as He literally ran away, running down the street.

Ironically, He saw the tow truck at a gas station a stones throw off. He ran towards it. The building was one of those typical gas stations that have somehow survived decades without being bulldozed. He walked up to the man getting gas for the tow truck. "Hello, that's my car on the back, was gonna change the tire but got uh…distracted from the trees." The bigger dude with a dad's belly "those damn trees. You got the keys?" Mark nodded. So the bigger dude pulled the car over to a parking spot then lowered the car. Mark responded "thanks for putting the car on flat ground." The trucker "yep," then simply got back in his truck and drove off. Mark thought "guy must have had a rough day too, at least he didn't charge me."

At home he pulled in the drive way. His dad came bursting out from the front door holding a beer bottle. Mark purposely hit his head on the steering wheel for painful comfort. "Great." As he came walking towards his dad "did you get me any food?" Mark shook his head "nope. Go get some yourself." A bottle came hurling towards him but missed terribly. Mark looked at the broken bottle at his side "almost. Got you cigarettes, Mark would rather his dad smoke than drink, he wasn't a nice drunk, and Mark didn't want to be bothered while trying to study for a bullshit test on a class he might not be allowed to come back to.

His dad was watching loud porn on the screen, so he actually didn't get hardly any studying done till late at night, when he was able to turn off the TV because The Fool finally fell asleep. This was the final test for the class and Mark didn't feel hardly prepared enough, but he went to sleep.

He started as was all his days: tired. Very tired he was. "What a horrible day to be tired." He wanted to get to school early, so he could peacefully study with no interruptions from The Pathetic Man. While studying, Mark, noticed a girl that kept looking at him across the room. Of course, Mark has noticed this behavior from her before, but like all men that struggle with their soul, he quickly shoved this idea aside "I am too pathetic for a woman." The clock struck noon. It was time.

He walked to the classroom and went inside. His teacher, waiting for him to enter very graciously, said "Mark, you do not need to take the test." Mark somewhat dumbstruck "why?" The teacher had his legs crossed "you are not part of this course anymore." Mark's temperature rose "why, what did I do?" The teacher onwards "everything, your tone, your attitude, your questions." The Chosen One "if you want a war I'll give you one." And The Apostle left the room SLAMMING! The door behind him.

Walking towards his shitty car "I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! Shitty job, fucking shitty life, pathetic dad, AND NOW MY SCHOOL. The one chance I had at life. My GPA is gonna flop, and now I have to take this course again." He continued cursing while opening his car door then turning on the engine. "I've had enough of all of this, I don't care anymore. My mother left me and so I will leave this pathetic everything." A satanic answer came into his head: vengeance. He stared. Vengeance? He thought. Clenched his hands on the steering wheel "That sounds WONDERFUL!"

XXX 3

When new thoughts enter the mind they can sound wonderful. An eerie way of thinking is challenging and glorifying. When the ego rises so do the risks. Driving a car worsens. STAY OUT OF THE VEHICLE reader! Too many have died to the road 's destiny was in his hands. When the discovery of life in its control appears the sheer amount of willpower increases to the ends of the Earth.

He strolled up the driveway as if He just conquered Europe. Opens the front door then slams it so hard the dead could have awoke. Walks upstairs to where his dad usually passes out after drinking. And yet again he was drunk. Not caring about the causes, consequences, or cries he picks up a one of many beer bottles and smashes his dad with it.

BEWARE DADS AND MOTHERS of the children you breed. It is easy to forget that they have a soul, and at any point in their life they could kill you while you're sleeping. An easy task to do and God Almighty help you if they have discovered this idea. Your fear and tyranny can only go so far. Beatings or words coil up inside the mind and produce filth and murder. The hate has to go somewhere; it may possibly enter into your neck.

His dad instantly awoke with eyes wide open. The instinct of human life kicked in: he was being attacked. The father tried to push Mark off of him, but Mark's will was too strong. His rage was overpowering. NOW! Mark's father was much much bigger than he was, and could easily win a fist fight. His stomach was large and could take a blow from the world's strongest man.

The rage of seven-thousand days was to great of a force. He picked up another bottle and slammed it. "THIS IS FOR ALL THOSE BEATINGS YOU DID TO ME!" another and another destroyed. The Drinker lay motionless. Mark looked at The Tyrant again. No guilt. No shame. No remorse. Pure hatred. Now He felt ALIVE!

Violence is easy, standing up to violence is hard, but once done the feeling is invigorating. BEWARE! Standing up to what is right is a hard task. After the moment a new emotion kicks in: doubt. Doubt is poison. Once drunken, brings forth sorrow. "What have I done?"- He thought. The Murderer looked at the body. "Must I get rid of this body?" Sadly, The Fat One never went anywhere, so no one would know he was gone.

"Now what?" He rushed to the bathroom to wash his hands. Looked into the mirror to see himself. He looked at his hands. He was shaking. Pieces of glass fell into the sink. He looked at himself again and stared. His hands were bleeding. Now he thought about vengeance towards the teacher.

Using a gun was too risky; he couldn't flee the scene. He had a pressure cooker upstairs. A quick internet search solved all the other ingredients. Mark bought from different stores with cash to cover up the traces. A few hours passed since The Incident. The cashiers didn't think much of Him; mainly because they deal with a hundred people a day and one other person buying random items was too much for the brain to process. Humans are mainly pilots strapped onto a walking organism.

Once complete he stuffed carefully all the items together in the outside garbage bin. Once the Engineer completed The Gathering; he looked at the sheer size of the trash can. It was massive and packed full of lethal shit. Dumbstruck "how the hell am I going to get this thing in there? A few moments passed and he thought of an idea. "Who the hell is gonna care about a trash-can rolled into the university? I'll simply use my used to be dad's janitorial clothing. No one will suspect anything," and right he was.

Mark couldn't sleep. Too excited for the next endeavor. He paced around the house all night thinking. THEN! When the clock struck eight in the morning, he loaded the bomb into the truck. He took his previously father's snug-nose revolver: clean silver with a heavy trigger. Turned the ignition, pressed the gas pedal, and was off.

The drive was scary. He had never done something like this before. Once he got mad at an animal, but nothing soul wrenching like this. Mark wasn't bullied at school. People knew his at home situation and feared him. Never fuck with psychos they are unpredictable and can occur at any age. The people with a troubled mind age very quickly. Demons are not prejudiced when it comes to ages or walks of life.

The truck was old but still ran, shaky yet did its job. At eight-thirty he arrived. He put on his gloves then began the procedure. Checked the "trash-can" in the trunk all looked fine. He put weights on the sides so the luggage wouldn't slide during the transport.

Slowly but surely he unloaded the package then simply walked straight towards the building while rolling the can. "No way this is gonna work. I don't fucking care anymore. I'll pop myself if this doesn't work." He tried not to think. He was tired of thinking, tired of caring, tired of everything. "I'll laugh if this actually works." Simply strolled up to the wall; on the other side stood The Second Tyrant lecturing. Slightly opened the lid as a fuse to turn on a battery powering the cooker; re-closed it, then strolled off. He did not look at anyone while walking out, for he didn't want to smile.

Once the bomb was done he waited in the truck. He looked at his hands, to make sure he was still alive. He knew what would happen. The conscious ways in heavily before murder. He sat for an eternity. He forgot to pee, or he think he had too. "No time, too late." The clocked hit two minutes past. Just one more. Then it happened. The ground shook, and he heard screaming off in the distance.

By this time adrenaline takes control and the mind has trouble reasoning. He immediately turned on the truck. Drove slowly. Each red light was horrible, green even worse. His heart beat too fast, but he was only doing a simple task: driving. He reasoned he had to do this.

BEHOLD! The WORST THOUGHT of his life seeped into his brain; "how many bombs are you gonna need to get rid of all of them? All the tyrants?" He responded to the personal question inside. "There are too many." Mark wasn't paying attention. Dazed, he ran a red-light; the rest I'm sure you can guess.

When a massive failure happens the first word to come out is the most emotional word that sky-rockets into the mind, and it is usually hella exasperated with long syllables. "FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKK!"

Slammed the steering wheal, looked around, "I don't have time for this!" A car barely clipped him. He sped off. Down a few more streets and a few more. A cop spotted the maniacal driving. "This is it. THIS IS FUCKING IT!" He said. Mark's done. It will all be easily solved by now. "I must run." When a rat runs for its life, it runs for safety. A spot it knows it will be safe. Animal instincts are in control now. Mark was not.

Faster he drove. Metal dangled from the rear. Annoying sound, increased perception in times of crisis. This is it. Onwards he drove. More lights flickered in the mirror. Too many, just too many. Swarming, they pursued. Traffic lights don't matter anymore.

Left here, right there, strangely no slip ups. Until…he ran his luck dry. A car he SLAMMED into. "Reverse quickly! Get out of spot, Shift back into drive, Barely can see, Foot to floor, Woman screaming, Horns blaring, Lights glaring, Sun staring, Almost there, Too home, A few more lights, See The Sign, Shitty turn, Car is slowing, through "No Trespassing Sign", I will make it, Car smoking, Gravel hard, Straight ahead, to destiny, Slam on brake, Open door, Wait, Look around car, Open glove compartment, Grab revolver, Limp to pond, So tired, Breath weak, tired exhausted, stared onward, Sirens from behind, Check if loaded, Breath more, Cars stop, Shouting, Hand on gun, Shouting again, Do it, Finish it, Raises right arm, Warm cheek, Squeeze Trigger.

XXX 4

What is it like to watch the news and see that the news affects you? Good or bad it must be electrifying. If bad awful, if good strange. The feeling of fame; what is it? Can one sell fame? Can one buy fame? Once famed, can it be erased? Once famed, nothing is left without a trace. Good or bad, it all ends in something.

Cameras here. Cameras there. Cameras everyfuckingwhere. Trying so hard….. toooo hard to look at the damn kid that just shot himself. Reporters. No respect. Neither for the dead, nor the living, nor the mistreated. And god forbid the exclusive drama posters. The swarm of Maggots converged on him as He entered the Ambulance. It happened so fast that the police didn't get a chance to form a line, nor did they prepare for the horde of camera hoarders. The men shut the van's door and drove off. It doesn't take long for the vermin's to equate and stitch together a fucking incident. The boy that drove planted the bomb. Who else would have?

Inside, what is it like? I can tell you, because I've been in one, and it is embarrassing. Go fucking figure a big ASS window is on the back of the van so people driving can look in. I would love to know who put that window there, then strip him naked, and put him in The Van, so his balls can be visible to the whole world.

And so He was. Visible. To the naked eye. People drove towards the PD to carefully glimpse inside the VAN even when the vehicle was going full speed. News is news and everyone wants to be on top.

They splurged and tried to revive. Mark shook at the throbbing electric discharge. Once at the hospital, the medics could barely open the door for the throng of people. Cameras shocking, His head was bobbing. The nurses were staring at Mark. "KILL HIM NOW" one shouted. "WHY SAVE HIM! HE KILLED THEM" it makes me sick how much doctors try to save a soul that has killed a soul.

The race track was at its crossroads. The one's shoving had to get by. FINALLY police came in "MOVE PEOPLE" move out of the way again and again. I KNOW MY EDITING FUCKING SUCKS! Go fuck a goat for all I care.

FINALLY!

FINALLY!

FINALLY!

They arrived at The Operating Room. Shoved him in. Then the incisions began. Tube after tube. Funnel here, funnel there, funnels every fuckingwhere. AND Oh YES, there was blood! lots of it. The Man was banged up.

Poor workers. They tried and tried. Shocked and shocked. Poor Mark if I can say. He had his tongue out. Tube in mouth and "other mouth." THE PENIS. Man that hurts.

There is no mercy for you when you must be kept alive. And God-forbid. People do a really damn good job at KEEPING PEOPLE THAT SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE ALIVE!

How can I paint the next scene Reader? I have thought about it: for a good long while. This room is almost an art. It has been crafted many times. Painted quite a few. Is it because…it is perfect? Man and machine trying to keep an Image of The Lord alive? We've seen it in the movies. Blood. Twenty humans somehow all doing something meaningful in a small room. Scissors, KNIVES, Spatulas. All sorts of torturing materials all used to keep a human: ALIVE! And damn do they try. It is a blessing by God alone that doctors in the ER still try to keep a human alive; regardless of what that human has done. Why? Why might you ask? I believe. It is because, once a human dies, he cannot be revived. Once a human dies they cannot be revived. Once a human dies, there is no going back. It is finished. And that is what happened here. PLEASE READ!

The silver glistened in the light. The lights were fixed on The Object. The Object had too many tubes: everywhere. Could He feel pain? Or was He out of it?

At perfect angles, more instruments glistened. Together man and tools provided. Woman and Man, Race and gender, dumb and smart. All collaborated to keep this MAN alive. They tried and tried. But they didn't know what they were trying to revive. A human, yes. A man? Possibly. HE WAS SO CLOSE! I can feel it AND I NEED THAT FEELING!

"One more time!" Shouted the lead surgeon. He rubbed Jesus' revivers together then placed them on Mark's chest one more time. "CLEAR" Then that never forgetful sound of energy being releasing to revive the heart. It failed.

Then…Yes that dull beep.

Blurp

Blurp

Blurp

Blurp

Blurp

Blurp

Blurp

They all stood. Heads lowered. Some thinking could be heard through the complete silence, "now we'll never know, never know why." said The Surgeon. After the great moments of pause "TIME!" first doctor said "ten-forty-SEVEN! November ninth." The main charted it but… The Life Machine beeped.

The machine beeped again

Eleven seconds went

The machine beeped again-Louder!

Louder!

Twenty-Seconds

LOUDER!

The whole in His head shot out black fluid. He alone wasn't done, no, not yet. The whole filled.

One surgeon dropped her instruments.

Another one did as well

They stood shocked

The tubes filled with puss and black. The tube in arm imploded! And shot around the room spraying black liquid everywhere. Hearts thumbed wildly.

"WHAT IS THIS!" screamed the younger. The lead tried to put the tubes back in. The force was to much. He had Him. It was His now. His vessel. Suddenly all the tubes came out like some sort of octopus spraying all its blackish gooShit all over the place. THEN!

The body shook and wreathed in place. Foaming and bloating at the mouth. The stomach expanded then popped. The tentacles miraculously reversed and stitched up the body as one whole. Veins began to turn black. They began to expand. His eyes opened. A headache. Those horrible migraines. There is only one absolute ONE-HUNDRED-PERCENT cure to migraines and that is to blow it up.

The mind-raving lunatic opened His mouth and screamed. His teeth were black. The goo slowly dripped like a raindrop from His lips. He had one thought in his morbid brain. FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

He instantly grabbed the closest human. The tentacle grasp LEAPED into her eyes. She raved and struggled and was sucked dry. The others stood scared and amazed. The other arms leaped and galloped to each head and did the same. ONE LUCKY one tried to run away to the door. His head slammed into the door's window. The cops noticed. They barged into the room only to be completely sucked dry.

XXX 5

How much does a soul cost? Is it weighed in pounds or ounces? What is its price. When does the value begin to cost more? Is the final cost at birth or at death or smack-dab in between? Who determines the cost of a soul? Is the soul a perfect form of a transaction? It comes in dust then returns to dust. A spec of cells, two exact, then a subtraction to form the pile of filth we all are: dust.

How long is a soul alive? When is a soul at its highest potential. When is a soul at its worst. Does a soul even exist. Please don't tell me there are no souls. If there are none, then why can a person lose life through the blood of the heart and brain, then be revived with the Shockers of Jesus or in common man's tongue: defibrillator.

When is a person dead? Is it at the start of heroin or when they overdose. How many lives must this person cost? How many people must die to save a soul. How many souls must be saved to save a soul?

When is it a good time to take a life to preserve another. Should a life be taken if it was a byproduct of rape? Should a life be taken if it was from rape. Should every rapist die? Should a victim of rape be forfeit. Should their soul be cleansed to preserve harmony and end their suffering? When is a soul considered to be suffering? Do the dead suffer. Is there suffering of the soul in death.

What must a man do to relinquish a soul from suffering. Is vengeance a way to pay off a soul's dept. Is a soul's death paid with interest or a down-payment? Who is in charge of the down-payment, is it the victim or the one seeking blood. Are taxes levied on a soul? Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, and a soul for a soul. Only one soul habits one soul, a person cannot die twice. The time before that soul is released can only be increased, yet when that soul is gone, the time is wasted afterword.

How much time must there be spent to preserve a soul. At the end of the years, when the body is weak, how many people must it take to preserve the old man's soul? And who pays for this currency.

Again, where do souls go when depleted? When is a life considered done? What is a lifetime considered fulfilled? Of all the billions of humans on Earth, how many of them are wasting oxygen? Who determines the pathetic between the mighty? Should weak humans die? What is a weak human?

A weak human is someone providing no benefit to humanity. Or a person that is a threat to all. Some strange questions are easy to answer yet hard to implement. Having no humans that provide no benefit to society seems logical, but the scary part is who determines this principle. Should all Nazis die? However, what is a Nazi? Such are questions that affect the strange at heart. The solution for Genocide, the virus of Knull, is to kill them all. No judging if all are dead.

Xxx6

What are the breeding grounds of a mass killer? What are some of the pre-requisites one must take? What are some of the courses he must take for the Masters Degree? Or is it just a bachelors degree? Is it a certificate or a doctorate?

How must a family perform to produce Its desired result? Must the dad beat the wife or the child? Or both? Must the father drink? Or should the mother. What about the siblings. What must they do to produce a Master Killer. How must he hit her. How must he touch her. Touch him or her this is twenty-nineteen.

Why stop at the father or mother. What about the strange uncle or the strange aunt that likes to hear the little one giggle. How must a cousin perform to produce a Master-Piece.

How many years of family torture does it take for this Investment. Is there interest? Is it a stock or a bond. Or is it a…mutual fund. Is it for profit or non-profit. When must the person in debt file for bankruptcy? What chapter must this person file?

How much anger does there need to be to produce a Mass Killer? How many souls must die to be considered a mass killing? Is one human enough or more than three? Are the first two not enough death to be considered? Are children counted in this measurement as well?

Do single murders even matter in killings. In one day, do the number of murders in every city in the world not equate to enough deaths? Are single killings even important for this Scale? Or does the world only care about Mass Killings? The numbers died in one-minute are more important than one-week. Sickening. But true.

A killing spree of twenty souls is more important than twenty humans dying in twenty different cities. The souls are still sent to the afterlife but the numbers happened all at once are far more important in this scale.

Do injuries even matter in this Measurement? Or when the heart stops beating is all that matters?

FUCK ALL THE ONES THAT ARE INJURED FOR LIFE! The only thing that matters in a Mass Killing are the ones that The Lord sees.

DON'T EVEN ASK ME WHO DOES THE MASS KILLING or what weapon or device is used. OR WHAT COLOR THE PERSON'S SKIN IS! Or if the killer had a vagina or a dick.

DON'T TELL ME WHAT TYPE OF FIREARM HE USED! A gun is a gun. When a trigger is pulled a projectile is shot forward. Does it really matter in what manner the gun operates to send forth its wraith? God help us when people stop using guns and invest a little more time into bombs.

BUT! BUT! BUT!

Why stop at bombs? Why not use a truck. Trucks today even have steel rams in-front of the engine. TO PROTECT ITSELF the makers say. How many bones does it take to smash the front of a Dodge RAM? Or a Ford F-150? Does a Tundra suffice? If the end result is the same why are guns only used? Is it Propaganda? Or is it an image.

Is it fame these people seek? The fame afterwards helps in boiling the VENGANCE! How much VEGANCE is there boiled up in a lifetime? Is it worse in the younger years? Does this crockpot boil then EXPLODE in their mid-twenties? When does the kettle start to scream. If eggs are left boiling then the pot BURSTS! What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when FOOD boils over.

What a mess happens when LIFE BOILS over!

What a mess happens when stress piles up.

What a mess happens when arriving to school late.

What a mess happens when forgetting to let the dog out.

What a mess happens when forgetting to get cigarettes.

What a mess happens when a father gets angry.

Such a mess when a mother gets angry.

Such a mess I have boiled up in my mind.

Should I smash it? Or keep the rage tucked in. What should a person do when their mind is boiling. Who is the best person to turn on The Cooker. Is it your father? Your mother? Is it school? Or God help you son…if it's all three.

People wonder why mass killers can do something so evil. Is it not more evil to abuse a child for twenty-years?

IS IT NOT MORE EVIL TO ABUSE A CHILD FOR TWENTY YEARS than to commit a mass killing!

Why care about life when life doesn't care about you.

Why care about people when people don't care about you.

How many cars pass a person on the side of the road with a flat tire. How many good drivers are there compared to road ragers.

How many humans are there willing to cook you a meal compared to how many that do not want to. How many people are there willing to allow a person to sleep on their couch. BUT! What about the bed. Why do guests have to sleep on the couch and not the bed?

Why are there laws of the land. Why are there speeding limits. Why are there jails. Why are there more jails than schools. Why are there more schools than homeless shelters. Why are there more churches than homeless shelters. Why are there massive churches full of riches and glory yet not one of them are open for the homeless.

Why does the news harbor so much on death rather than life. Why does the news cover evil more than good. Why are there more guns than people. GOD BLESS NUCLEAR BOMBS the literal cure for warfare. There has not been a single world war since 1945.

Why is history plagued with wars? Do we now live in heaven? Where are the soldiers marching in the streets? Where is the King that has had enough of his peasants! Why am I not killed for cussing out my president or thrown into a dungeon. Is this heaven we live in? Why do I not even go to jail when I file for bankruptcy. Why am I not sold into slavery when I default on my house?

WHERE IS CEASAR! Why am I not thrown into the arena when I tell Caesar he isn't a god? Where is God? Where is OUR MESS!

My son. There may be no Caesar but Caesar doesn't live with you.

There may be no Hitler but Hitler doesn't live with you.

It doesn't matter who is lord, god, or chancellor. The house. The family. It is the start of everything. Whether good or evil. The start of life is cruel. No decisions. No asking for parents. No asking for starting salary. No asking for loving parents or hateful demons. NO CHANCE! For peaceful beginnings. Just thrown into the sphere of life hoping for a miracle.

My son. I wanted to right a story about a man having the privilege to release all his evil energy from pain, suffering, depression, and madness. What will a person with rage, anger, and hatred do with a firearm?

How much does this person need to be heated in the fiery furnace? Is it burnished bronze? Or iron forged into steel? How much does the smith need to hammer and chisel the sword into a weapon? Where will this sword pierce. Who will be its first target? A mass killer is forged in blood and iron.

It is easier to strike a child than it is to forge a sword. What kind of evil happens in a household? Is it even measurable. How evil can a parent be? IS THERE A LIMIT! How evil can a human be? Is there a limit! One rape is enough evil for a lifetime. God help you who does it and how often. Is there a furnace breathing from within?

The home is a fiery furnace forged in pain and hatred. The weapon spitted out in the end takes a lifetime to tame. Some swords are created for righteousness, safety, and protection. Others, smelted with pain, sorrow, rape, yelling, screaming, pure fucking madness. These swords used with the right wielder can garnish many souls.

But...one has forgotten something. Who does the smelting? Is it The Lord? Is it the god of Chance? What about Fate? Who does the SMELTING! Or is it money?

The crazy thing about money is...money can't buy a happy family. What can a rich child do to a father who strikes him for dropping his milkshake? Can the twelve-year-old buy a new father? Or is the boy like all the other children, stuck with the parents they have. Toys and cars are wonderful but they do not greet you every morning. Toys don't talk back. Cars do not beat the soul to death. Money does not talk, degrade, verbal abuse, or strike a child into submission. Money is quite literally...paper.

The worst part about childhood is he or she must live in that house until they are able to live freely. A family may be perfect on the outside but none of us truly know what is past that front door.

None of us truly know what is passed the front door.

None of us know if the mother abuses her family with venomous asp words.

None of us know if the father strengthens his muscles with beating his wife and kids.

None of us know what happens past the front door. BUT!

What if the child is the problem? The child has a soul and with all souls there is a free-will. AND IF THAT SOUL is tormented in their early life then a mass-killer is created. And the sword is forged waiting to be wielded.

Now where the fuck was I with this story?

XXX7

The man (Mark) had a headache but he continued walking down a poorly lit hallway. It seems the only solution to migraines is to blow the brains out. He grasped his forehead. Further down the hall a nurse noticed a zombie-like patient with ass-cheeks showing, and barely standing upright walking towards her. "Sir, where are you from?" Then his hand lowered from his head and she noticed IT WAS HIM. But a voice came from within him "I require another soul." And that was the end of her career.

Mark couldn't tell if he was completely high or having a schizophrenic moment he couldn't even tell if he was alive, all of this was a blur to him, a dream perhaps, or a nightmare, but some nightmares can be wonderful.

He passed a corner then he came across flashing lights. There was a purple drape across the hall and a man was shouting at the people on the other side. "Please! NO REPORTERS pass this LINE!" But! some saw him squinting from their bright flashes. "That's him!" One of the camera men shouted then the onslaught of camera flashes commenced.

Mark, dazed and confused, while completely naked went into a door on his right. In this room was another one of those masterfully engineered rooms to keep a human alive. But on the table was an old man probably having open-heart surgery. Mark came bursting in running around panicking and hitting everything over. He fell over entangled in grotesque instruments but kept running. Barreling into one room after another. Then eventually he hit a wall.

This hallway was long but at the end of each row were a group of people dressed in blue. Mark, slowly regained his consciousness then stood back up. He shook his head a few times. A few armed men came forward with guns drawn because they didn't know any better response. Then the voice clearly within his head "I didn't wait thousands of years for this!" Genocide came hurling down the hallway with mouth gaped wide open running and eating as he went.

Genocide was in complete control now. The tentacles lessened. He became more human. Mark was naked and he still had a few leftover markings from the IV's, but they were slowly healing quite quickly. "I must leave this place," Genocide told himself. He ran up a flight of stairs. There were a few people coming down the stairs, but their souls were quickly eaten. Then it happened, he finally came to the roof.

It was a clear day. And sure enough there was a helicopter looking down upon the hospital. Mark knew this, and his thoughts became His thoughts. The two were more and more becoming like one. Mark leaped across a few buildings. Some of the leaps were much higher than others, for the hospital building was very tall. But this did not matter for Genocide. Then at last Mark breathed within his nostrils, and his sense of smell became heightened. He darted his head toward the sea. "That is where we must go," said The God. Mark nodded or at least he thought he did, all of it still was not clear. But what was clear, was the bond being formed.

Mark leaped from building to building and the sea was in sight. "Only a few more then we will be heightened," Genocide said. The helicopter tried to keep up, oh and yes all was on video for the world to see. But the camera struggled keeping track of the raving tentacle-man. At the edge of the view Mark could be seen doing one last leap straight into the water. Then he was gone from view, for now.


	2. Chapter 2

How much does a soul cost? Is it weighed in pounds or ounces? What is its price. When does the value begin to cost more? Is the final cost at birth or at death or smack-dab in between? Who determines the cost of a soul? Is the soul a perfect form of a transaction? It comes in dust then returns to dust. A spec of cells, two exact, then a subtraction to form the pile of filth we all are: dust.

How long is a soul alive? When is a soul at its highest potential. When is a soul at its worst. Does a soul even exist. Please don't tell me there are no souls. If there are none, then why can a person lose life through the blood of the heart and brain, then be revived with the Shockers of Jesus or in common man's tongue: defibrillator.

When is a person dead? Is it at the start of heroin or when they overdose. How many lives must this person cost? How many people must die to save a soul. How many souls must be saved to save a soul?

When is it a good time to take a life to preserve another. Should a life be taken if it was a byproduct of rape? Should a life be taken if it was from rape. Should every rapist die? Should a victim of rape be forfeit. Should their soul be cleansed to preserve harmony and end their suffering? When is a soul considered to be suffering? Do the dead suffer. Is there suffering of the soul in death.

What must a man do to relinquish a soul from suffering. Is vengeance a way to pay off a soul's dept. Is a soul's death paid with interest or a down-payment? Who is in charge of the down-payment, is it the victim or the one seeking blood. Are taxes levied on a soul? Blood for blood, an eye for an eye, and a soul for a soul. Only one soul habits one soul, a person cannot die twice. The time before that soul is released can only be increased, yet when that soul is gone, the time is wasted afterword.

How much time must there be spent to preserve a soul. At the end of the years, when the body is weak, how many people must it take to preserve the old man's soul? And who pays for this currency.

Again, where do souls go when depleted? When is a life considered done? What is a lifetime considered fulfilled? Of all the billions of humans on Earth, how many of them are wasting oxygen? Who determines the pathetic between the mighty? Should weak humans die? What is a weak human?

A weak human is someone providing no benefit to humanity. Or a person that is a threat to all. Some strange questions are easy to answer yet hard to implement. Having no humans that provide no benefit to society seems logical, but the scary part is who determines this principle. Should all Nazis die? However, what is a Nazi? Such are questions that affect the strange at heart. The solution for Genocide, the virus of Knull, is to kill them all. No judging if all are dead.

Xxx6

What are the breeding grounds of a mass killer? What are some of the pre-requisites one must take? What are some of the courses he must take for the Masters Degree? Or is it just a bachelors degree? Is it a certificate or a doctorate?

How must a family perform to produce Its desired result? Must the dad beat the wife or the child? Or both? Must the father drink? Or should the mother. What about the siblings. What must they do to produce a Master Killer. How must he hit her. How must he touch her. Touch him or her this is twenty-nineteen.

Why stop at the father or mother. What about the strange uncle or the strange aunt that likes to hear the little one giggle. How must a cousin perform to produce a Master-Piece.

How many years of family torture does it take for this Investment. Is there interest? Is it a stock or a bond. Or is it a…mutual fund. Is it for profit or non-profit. When must the person in debt file for bankruptcy? What chapter must this person file?

How much anger does there need to be to produce a Mass Killer? How many souls must die to be considered a mass killing? Is one human enough or more than three? Are the first two not enough death to be considered? Are children counted in this measurement as well?

Do single murders even matter in killings. In one day, do the number of murders in every city in the world not equate to enough deaths? Are single killings even important for this Scale? Or does the world only care about Mass Killings? The numbers died in one-minute are more important than one-week. Sickening. But true.

A killing spree of twenty souls is more important than twenty humans dying in twenty different cities. The souls are still sent to the afterlife but the numbers happened all at once are far more important in this scale.

Do injuries even matter in this Measurement? Or when the heart stops beating is all that matters?

FUCK ALL THE ONES THAT ARE INJURED FOR LIFE! The only thing that matters in a Mass Killing are the ones that The Lord sees.

DON'T EVEN ASK ME WHO DOES THE MASS KILLING or what weapon or device is used. OR WHAT COLOR THE PERSON'S SKIN IS! Or if the killer had a vagina or a dick.

DON'T TELL ME WHAT TYPE OF FIREARM HE USED! A gun is a gun. When a trigger is pulled a projectile is shot forward. Does it really matter in what manner the gun operates to send forth its wraith? God help us when people stop using guns and invest a little more time into bombs.

BUT! BUT! BUT!

Why stop at bombs? Why not use a truck. Trucks today even have steel rams in-front of the engine. TO PROTECT ITSELF the makers say. How many bones does it take to smash the front of a Dodge RAM? Or a Ford F-150? Does a Tundra suffice? If the end result is the same why are guns only used? Is it Propaganda? Or is it an image.

Is it fame these people seek? The fame afterwards helps in boiling the VENGANCE! How much VEGANCE is there boiled up in a lifetime? Is it worse in the younger years? Does this crockpot boil then EXPLODE in their mid-twenties? When does the kettle start to scream. If eggs are left boiling then the pot BURSTS! What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when food boils over.

What a mess happens when FOOD boils over.

What a mess happens when LIFE BOILS over!

What a mess happens when stress piles up.

What a mess happens when arriving to school late.

What a mess happens when forgetting to let the dog out.

What a mess happens when forgetting to get cigarettes.

What a mess happens when a father gets angry.

Such a mess when a mother gets angry.

Such a mess I have boiled up in my mind.

Should I smash it? Or keep the rage tucked in. What should a person do when their mind is boiling. Who is the best person to turn on The Cooker. Is it your father? Your mother? Is it school? Or God help you son…if it's all three.

People wonder why mass killers can do something so evil. Is it not more evil to abuse a child for twenty-years?

IS IT NOT MORE EVIL TO ABUSE A CHILD FOR TWENTY YEARS than to commit a mass killing!

Why care about life when life doesn't care about you.

Why care about people when people don't care about you.

How many cars pass a person on the side of the road with a flat tire. How many good drivers are there compared to road ragers.

How many humans are there willing to cook you a meal compared to how many that do not want to. How many people are there willing to allow a person to sleep on their couch. BUT! What about the bed. Why do guests have to sleep on the couch and not the bed?

Why are there laws of the land. Why are there speeding limits. Why are there jails. Why are there more jails than schools. Why are there more schools than homeless shelters. Why are there more churches than homeless shelters. Why are there massive churches full of riches and glory yet not one of them are open for the homeless.

Why does the news harbor so much on death rather than life. Why does the news cover evil more than good. Why are there more guns than people. GOD BLESS NUCLEAR BOMBS the literal cure for warfare. There has not been a single world war since 1945.

Why is history plagued with wars? Do we now live in heaven? Where are the soldiers marching in the streets? Where is the King that has had enough of his peasants! Why am I not killed for cussing out my president or thrown into a dungeon. Is this heaven we live in? Why do I not even go to jail when I file for bankruptcy. Why am I not sold into slavery when I default on my house?

WHERE IS CEASAR! Why am I not thrown into the arena when I tell Caesar he isn't a god? Where is God? Where is OUR MESS!

My son. There may be no Caesar but Caesar doesn't live with you.

There may be no Hitler but Hitler doesn't live with you.

It doesn't matter who is lord, god, or chancellor. The house. The family. It is the start of everything. Whether good or evil. The start of life is cruel. No decisions. No asking for parents. No asking for starting salary. No asking for loving parents or hateful demons. NO CHANCE! For peaceful beginnings. Just thrown into the sphere of life hoping for a miracle.

My son. I wanted to right a story about a man having the privilege to release all his evil energy from pain, suffering, depression, and madness. What will a person with rage, anger, and hatred do with a firearm?

How much does this person need to be heated in the fiery furnace? Is it burnished bronze? Or iron forged into steel? How much does the smith need to hammer and chisel the sword into a weapon? Where will this sword pierce. Who will be its first target? A mass killer is forged in blood and iron.

It is easier to strike a child than it is to forge a sword. What kind of evil happens in a household? Is it even measurable. How evil can a parent be? IS THERE A LIMIT! How evil can a human be? Is there a limit! One rape is enough evil for a lifetime. God help you who does it and how often. Is there a furnace breathing from within?

The home is a fiery furnace forged in pain and hatred. The weapon spitted out in the end takes a lifetime to tame. Some swords are created for righteousness, safety, and protection. Others, smelted with pain, sorrow, rape, yelling, screaming, pure fucking madness. These swords used with the right wielder can garnish many souls.

But...one has forgotten something. Who does the smelting? Is it The Lord? Is it the god of Chance? What about Fate? Who does the SMELTING! Or is it money?

The crazy thing about money is...money can't buy a happy family. What can a rich child do to a father who strikes him for dropping his milkshake? Can the twelve-year-old buy a new father? Or is the boy like all the other children, stuck with the parents they have. Toys and cars are wonderful but they do not greet you every morning. Toys don't talk back. Cars do not beat the soul to death. Money does not talk, degrade, verbal abuse, or strike a child into submission. Money is quite literally...paper.

The worst part about childhood is he or she must live in that house until they are able to live freely. A family may be perfect on the outside but none of us truly know what is past that front door.

None of us truly know what is passed the front door.

None of us know if the mother abuses her family with venomous asp words.

None of us know if the father strengthens his muscles with beating his wife and kids.

None of us know what happens past the front door. BUT!

What if the child is the problem? The child has a soul and with all souls there is a free-will. AND IF THAT SOUL is tormented in their early life then a mass-killer is created. And the sword is forged waiting to be wielded.

Now where the fuck was I with this story?

XXX7

The man (Mark) had a headache but he continued walking down a poorly lit hallway. It seems the only solution to migraines is to blow the brains out. He grasped his forehead. Further down the hall a nurse noticed a zombie-like patient with ass-cheeks showing, and barely standing upright walking towards her. "Sir, where are you from?" Then his hand lowered from his head and she noticed IT WAS HIM. But a voice came from within him "I require another soul." And that was the end of her career.

Mark couldn't tell if he was completely high or having a schizophrenic moment he couldn't even tell if he was alive, all of this was a blur to him, a dream perhaps, or a nightmare, but some nightmares can be wonderful.

He passed a corner then he came across flashing lights. There was a purple drape across the hall and a man was shouting at the people on the other side. "Please! NO REPORTERS pass this LINE!" But! some saw him squinting from their bright flashes. "That's him!" One of the camera men shouted then the onslaught of camera flashes commenced.

Mark, dazed and confused, while completely naked went into a door on his right. In this room was another one of those masterfully engineered rooms to keep a human alive. But on the table was an old man probably having open-heart surgery. Mark came bursting in running around panicking and hitting everything over. He fell over entangled in grotesque instruments but kept running. Barreling into one room after another. Then eventually he hit a wall.

This hallway was long but at the end of each row were a group of people dressed in blue. Mark, slowly regained his consciousness then stood back up. He shook his head a few times. A few armed men came forward with guns drawn because they didn't know any better response. Then the voice clearly within his head "I didn't wait thousands of years for this!" Genocide came hurling down the hallway with mouth gaped wide open running and eating as he went.

Genocide was in complete control now. The tentacles lessened. He became more human. Mark was naked and he still had a few leftover markings from the IV's, but they were slowly healing quite quickly. "I must leave this place," Genocide told himself. He ran up a flight of stairs. There were a few people coming down the stairs, but their souls were quickly eaten. Then it happened, he finally came to the roof.

It was a clear day. And sure enough there was a helicopter looking down upon the hospital. Mark knew this, and his thoughts became His thoughts. The two were more and more becoming like one. Mark leaped across a few buildings. Some of the leaps were much higher than others, for the hospital building was very tall. But this did not matter for Genocide. Then at last Mark breathed within his nostrils, and his sense of smell became heightened. He darted his head toward the sea. "That is where we must go," said The God. Mark nodded or at least he thought he did, all of it still was not clear. But what was clear, was the bond being formed.

Mark leaped from building to building and the sea was in sight. "Only a few more then we will be heightened," Genocide said. The helicopter tried to keep up, oh and yes all was on video for the world to see. But the camera struggled keeping track of the raving tentacle-man. At the edge of the view Mark could be seen doing one last leap straight into the water. Then he was gone from view, for now.


End file.
